


Radioactive

by Roomies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon Het Relationship, Choking, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, First Time, Frottage, POV First Person, Past Character Death, Scars, Scratching, Tentabulges, Troll Biology, Troll Romance, Troll terminology, Underage Drinking, Verbal Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roomies/pseuds/Roomies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short tale of Gamzee and Terezi, who hate each other very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radioactive

_Tonight I feel like neon gold._  
I take one look at you and I grow cold.  
And I grow cold.  
And I grow cold.  


_~ Marina and the Diamonds, "Radioactive"_

* * *

Kismesissitude. His lips dripping sweet venom, as the hatred between us cackles with shadowy intentions. My blood pumping organ lying on a sheet of onyx, brought to life by the dark electricity in his touch. Cuts on our souls, drawn from our words; perfect enemies - we are perfect enemies. I seize his left prong, forcing his fingers between mine. He grabs my hair, pulling me into a kiss. Our lips bruise in our passion.

"My my my, like a motherfucking barkbeast all up in the seasonal throes of fucking," he whispers, as he traces my jawline with his claw. I shiver, excited from the softness of his touch, and the hardness of his voice. We're just getting started.

I laugh. He's got a predators smile, made all the more ferocious by the three jagged scars on his face - reminders of the deaths he's caused, of my reason to loathe every ounce of his physical being. I run my thumb along them, tracing them as I cup his face. Like a horrorterror, my bulge writhes for him when I remember our dead friends. "That's original. I've never been compared to an animal before! Come on, Gamzee. Where's that motherfucking miracle of a silver tongue? Lose it with your stupid clown religion?"

The echoing ring of my callous giggling entices him. There's a twitch, then his expression changes in my grasp. Like a fucking flipped switch, his temporarily controlled passivity becomes a scowl of sharp teeth, the rage in his breathing, coming out in growls. I prepare a battle stance, but he moves fast. My breath is cut short, as all ten of his digits dig into my meal tunnel. I keep smiling, gloating over his show of violence. It's only when he doesn't stop that I begin to worry. I cut his skin, drawing lines of purple down his arms as I scrape my nails against him. He screams at me, like a creature from the deepest, darkest pits of nightmares.

Why isn't he letting go?

I try to laugh, to redirect him back to our scornful teasing, but it's useless. I can't even grab the tiniest sliver of air for my survival. He's strong. He's fucking strong. Instincts kick in before the panic does; I strike at him, using my claws as daggers as I aim for his eyes. His grip loosens as my attack connects, and I kick into his bone nook with all my strength. It doesn't have much power behind it, but it's enough. He goes staggering backwards, obscenely honking. My miserable struggle for breath continues, until a lump shifts in my mouth, and I cough. Blood loogies spray the ground as my chest swells with sweet, cool air in their absence.

The sound of sobbing freezes me in place. "You were motherfucking right all along. It was all a motherfucking joke!"

His tears wrack my pump biscuit. I want to lay the blame on his violence, but a dark and sinister thought sits in the back of my mind, pointing out that I began this. I went beyond my job as a kismesis, and attacked his very religion. I struck at a weak-point; I aimed to hurt him. Should I be surprised that he hurt me back? It would be unjust to lay the guilt solely on his shoulders. It's not my place to bully him. I'm here for the witty banter, and, when we're old enough, the filling of buckets. Oh so many buckets. As long as we're playing by the rules, we're going to be great.

Suddenly, he stops crying. My sword is already being drawn as the smell of grape and sopor assaults my nostrils. He roughly grabs my shoulders, hauling me back to my feet. I swing, and hearing the slicing of the blade against his flesh. Ignoring his injury, his bulge digs into my leg. He presses me against the wall, using his knee to massage my own swollen nub. I gasp at the power of his touch, arching my body into his, longing to have him touching every inch of my flesh. I want to roast in the flames, breathing it like a dragon until we're both engulfed in the fire of our hate. The perverse feeling of failing him sticks inside my nugbone, putting a stopper on my ability to fully lose myself to this glorious moment.

His lips are against my neck, as sharp teeth nibble my skin. He lets go with one prong, to wander down to my rumble spheres. I gasp as he pinches my nubs, then twists. Spikes of pleasure race through my body. My bulge stiffens, becoming unbearably itchy for somebody to touch it. I spread my legs and bite my lip. A part of me wants him to take the invitation, and my virginity; another part demands to know what I think I'm doing. Gamzee manages to find the compromise between the two, as I feel him slide in where I left an opening. He begins to rub against me, stimulating our autoerogenous shame globes between the fabric of respective pants. The friction of this, and the amazing administrations against my nipples, fill me to the edge.

"Now who's the barkbeast?" I hiss into his auricular sponge clots. He picks up the pace, responding to my vocal contempt as I hoped he would. "Oh, come on. Surely you can do better than that!"

Then, he does.

He grabs my hips, slides me into a more favorable position for himself. Gamzee always hid a natural talent for acrobatics and fighting; I should have known how those skills would translate into other parts of his life. The speed and strength that he used to cavort around the battlefield is suddenly my friend, as he slams his pelvis into mine, shattering the world into a thousand tiny pieces of white, hot, orgasmic bliss. I scream in ecstasy as he rides me, tearing a hole in the fly of my pants from the sheer force of our frottage. I feel the leather of his fleshly bone as it snakes it through the newly ripped entrance, lacing itself around mine. I expected to hear the cheers of my ancestors as I fucked a high blood, but the room is oddly silent except for the huffing and puffing of our tangled bodies.

It just doesn't feel right. There's still something wrong. As wonderful as this feels, I recognize that we're too early in our relationship to be going this far. Especially as my chagrin tunnel is still throbbing from the wounds I just received.

Gamzee honks obscenely, then starts moving his hips in a circular motion, like he's trying to drill his body through mine. I'm finding it hard to keep my mouth closed as the sheer sensations of it is making me want to rip my skin off just to wrangle it in. I want to go faster, and harder. My bulge tightens against his, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of it. The pressure is too much. The feelings, so delicious. His twitches as he spills his seed. But like a mother fucking trooper, he keeps going until my body has finally had enough. With a scream, my genetic material joins his, pooling at the base of our bodies, solidifying like glue trying to hold us together.

It smells tangy, like fruit punch that has spoiled. I find it both repulsive, and oddly endearing.

"Are you happy now?" Gamzee asks, his voice void of emotion. I barely recognize that vocal intonation. It's like the spark inside of him ejected itself with his wine scented splooge.

I snort out a laugh, for lack of an appropriate response. "You have no idea how much you disgust me."

I crumble to the ground as Gamzee lets go, listening to his footsteps as he walks away. I stare at the space in front of me. What did I do this time? Did I go too far again with my cruel wit? A sinewy rope of guilt and shame ties a noose around the neck of my self-respect. How could I possibly let myself be so cold? Was I too eager for this relationship? My body and mind are numb as I stand up and remove my destroyed pants. I begin to walk towards my meteor respiteblock when my foot connects with the smooth plastic of a discarded soda bottle. Although I am disgusted by Gamzee's intent on drowning his monstrous personality in the mind-altering comforts of sugary pop, I take the drink with me. The first few sips are nothing but strong flavor and bubbliness; halfway through the bottle, I realize that I feel much better. There's a sort of worm glow around my body, comforting me and lulling me into a peaceful sleep.

It isn't until I find the bottom of the third Faygo that dreamless sleep envelops me.


End file.
